Of Gods and Beasts - The Winds of Winter

The Winds of Winter

The snow has fallen heavily over the past days and the land, the tall pines and the little hovel where all but covered by the great white veil. In this cold night the only light was the rising half-moon Nondrir, with his two siblings still invisible and the dim reflection on the windows of the fire burning in the snow covered hut.

It made the lean dark shape almost impossible to make out as he was carefully threading under the branches of one of the great pines. His snow-white fur a near perfect camouflage and his deep purple eyes fixed on the house beneath him. After lifting his nose into the cold winds blowing to take a quick sniff, always weary for foreign scents. But today even his keen nose could not pick up any smells, not the heavy aroma of pinewood, no lingering smell of a wild-crossing, the cold winds had all but eradicated all smells as long as they kept the land in their icy clutch. Shaking his massive head, revealing briefly his great, crystal sharp fangs he began the slow decent towards the light of the hovel.

Ar’Coleon he is called, the great white wolf, for some he is only a legend, a whispered story the humans tell their welplings at night, but in truth he is prowling this land since decades… the multiple lifespans of his smaller brethren. But for him, the decades mean nothing, for one of his heritage he is still young, at the beginning of his long life for his ancestors can be traced back to the age of Titans, as the great Pack roamed the lands, for Shi’Ar one of the celestial wolves started his bloodline.

But none of that is of importance now, as he slowly pads closer to the hovel. Since this cold night, not much unlike the one today, when he first set foot on this ragged patch of earth, his superiority was eminent. This are his lands, and after 30 years now, no creature, human or feral dares challenge him. Not the packs of his fellow wolves, however big, not the giant black and brown bears fishing the shallow river, not even the great Felcar Tigers or the ancient snow ferpents attack him any more, he has no rival… had no rival.

It started barely a month ago, when the stranger entered his lands. He has known humans before, fought humans before, tasted their flesh, howled in victory over their dead bodies… but this one was different. He knows their hunters, there shiny claws which can shred you over huge distances, some like to hunt in packs, some in smaller parties of 2 or 3 but this one was different, he was a loner, like Ar’Coleon himself.
No pack to help, no brethren to guard your back, only yourself, and the prey. And the hunter never misses his first claw. He had not noticed, but Ar’Coleon was following him for days now, ever so carefully to not stand in the wind, to hide his scent. And the hunter found many creatures as prey, he even fought a pack of lesser wolves, Ar’Coleon let out a low growl as he remembered finding the 4 dead wolves… what he had done to them, taking their fur but leaving the flesh. It was the day that Ar’Coleon decided the stranger had to die, he killed not for hunger but for lust, for the killing itself.

He had waited patiently, traced the Hunters trail back, until he finally found his den, here hidden in the shallow valley not far away of the great cordom stream. Then he waited even longer, the days grew shorter and the cold winds rose. He anticipated his foe correctly, that he would retreat to his den, to wait till the blistering cold gets weaker. This is his time to strike, to him the dark winds where nothing. Again he checked the air for scents, any signs of danger but finding none he stopped at the hovels door, his great figure casting an even darker shadow through the night. It was a simple building, crude wooden shelves, windows barred from the inside to contain any precious warmth.

With a loud CRACK the windshields hit the walls in the howling winds, with the next CRACK he readied, bracing the muscles in his huge body. He could feel the rising winds just an instant before they gripped the window again and with the wind he jumped forward, slamming into the hovels door. CRACK, the door gave way under his first charge, his shoulder ached only slightly from the impact. In the blink of an eye he was on his four feet again, sniffing, ready… the wind was howling through the open door, tossing white snow inside the dark, narrow passage leading inside.
The door on the other end opened and the tall human shape of the hunter appeared… for a moment they stared at each other, Man and Wolf, perhaps wondering both who will be hunter, who will be prey this night.

With a fearsome low growl Ar’Coleon charged, muscles tightening, he flew at his foe. After a couple quick steps he hauled himself into the air, leaping the remaining distance at his opponent. While in air still, he sorted out the scents. Lesser wolfs already have good senses of smell, but Ar’Coleon’s are supreme, a heightened sense of things. It is not fear that he smells, only the human stink coming from wearing multiple layers of different furs as shield against the cold, he notices curiously while flying with open jaws, baring his great, razor-sharp teeth at the human.
And another scent he smells faintly, that one full of fear, clearly a second human… but something is wrong with this one… something he never smelled before.
Then comes the impact… flaying widely with his arms to protect himself they both stumble into the room behind and go down. Jaws snapping savagely the wolf tries to go for throat or face, but the hunter has his left arm barred against his chest, so he goes for that instead. The familiar taste of hot blood in his mouth as diamond sharp teeth tear through fur, leather, skin, flesh and bone of the hunters lower arm. But the human has trained reflexes, screaming out loud in terrible pain, as the great wolf stands over him, tearing of his arm he stops thinking, but acts.
His right arm comes slamming down hard on Ar’Coleons shoulder, blank steel flashing in the firelight. He howls, more in anger and fury as the Man-Claw bites deep into his shoulder, turning his bright white fur deep red. With all his might he yanks his head back, ripping of the poor remnants that where once a human arm. In a split second before the killing strike, he knows he won, as the arm goes flying through the little, cramped room, blood spraying from the stump the human sacks back, eyes rolling upward, showing only white, unable of further defense. Even before his head hits the ground as he falls back, uncouncisnous from the blinding pain Ar’Coleon snaps forward, teeth closing around his throat… one bite and it is over, a clean kill.
He stands up, ignoring the stabbing pain in his shoulder where the man-claw still shreds his flesh. His howl of victory is long and loud, this is his land, he has no rival.

Suddenly he stops, sniffing, he catches the faint scent again, slowly he turned, snarling and baring his teeth as a sign of strength, until he saw her.. a female human, smaller in size, barely reached adulthood, he judged. Still he let his bloody jaws open, wondering whether she could pose a threat or not, ever wary, for judging humans even if you have seen and fought and killed them in hundreds is always hard… why do they all look so alike, yet react so different? Most would run upon seeing his large shape, some would make whimpering sounds of submission, but all is treacherous for you can never predict how they react when approached.. some have jumped at him, screaming madly, like he has seen by some of his brethren, but only if they are ill with the white foam, blood drunk, berserk.

She is cowering at the back of the room, dark, almost black hair framing her face. He smells the dried blood at her wrists, old wounds, maybe she was bound for a long time, the constant pushing at the rope opening her wrists… like his so many years ago, as he himself was bound by remorseless ropes.
So he is approaching her wearily, constantly sniffing, trying to make out what he finds so odd about her, still fear is clinging to her scent, but there is something else, beneath the fear.. something he has never smelled before. His purple eyes staring in her sky blue ones and ears twitching he limps towards her, every step sending new spasms of pain from the buried man-claw, but no sign of weakness lets he show.
With a low growl his blood smeared muzzle comes close to her face, while his ears hear the constant whispering of her voice, soft like a summers breeze, clearly signs of submission even though she has not shown him her throat yet. Then her arms reached out to either side of his head, instantly he snaps at her face, snarling and halting his massive jaws a mere inch from her face… why is she reaching out with her arms like that ? Has she not seen what he had done to the last arm touching him ? The pieces where still sprawling throughout the room… but still, as his demonstration of strength had an impact, she closed her eyes for an instant, a clear sign of weakness the fear rising in her scent, she still reached around his head.

Brave little human, curiously he waited her next gestures, his blood smeared muzzle still at her face. He doesn’t want to kill this human, too, he had his fight, he had his victory but she should really start exposing her throat now, else he doesn’t have much of choice.

Then it all happened lightning fast, the sudden stab of pain temporarily blinding him and draining all the strength from his body. The pain exploded in his shoulder, the man claw he realized ! And then his vision became crystal clear again, even as she was whispering sounds of submission to deceit him, her small little hand had closed around the man claw buried in his shoulder and yanked it out ! Now, in the seconds where the pain was to much for him to bear, she had retreated to the far end of the room, mere 2 length of an deer from him, blood dripping man claw in hand.
Deceitful little thing, now she will face his fury unleashed, for he is Ar’Coleon, master of this land. With a deep growl he charged forward and lunged for her throat, knowing that she doesn’t stand a chance she was finally exposing it to him, but it was to late for submission, she had hurt him and therefore she will die ! He was so focused on the kill that even as his jaws where closing around her neck he realized that something was missing… he recalled in his head the last actions he took, the pain the charge… the pain, his charge and suddenly he realized ! Slowly his jaws closed, well before the little humans throat as he was so focused around his kill that he didn’t notice that the pain is his shoulder was all but a shadow of the pain he was feeling before… and he hasn’t even limped in his attack. The little human was actually helping him, by yanking the man claw out, the pain instantly was much more bearable, and the wound will heal much more quickly.
He began licking her face, as a gesture of gratitude, which brought out giggling squeals of joy from her, even as he was smearing the blood from his muzzle all over her. Her hands were petting him now, too, moving through his snow-white fur, bringing out feelings he kept so long buried in his heart of ice, colder than Kirin Thor, the frost god could not have made it.
Since that could winter day, more than 30 years ago such feeling he has never felt, and now here, while he was rolling playfully around with this young human, they were coming back, feelings of joy, feelings of caring, feelings of helping others, not living all for oneself, feelings of finally not being alone…. Feelings… feelings of PACK !!

And now the revelation came to him almost naturally, her scent, yes there were the normal notes of fear and relief, but now he notices it. Every race has a specific to their scent, an unchangeable aroma, easily distinguishable for everyone with a fine nose. And their was the problem, he always tried to grip the scent, finding out what was special to this one… but the specialty was the lack of an underlying aroma, the stink of human was not clinging to her… she smelled… pure.